Heal
by DarkAngelOfTruth
Summary: Because someone is always ready to be there for you. You just need to look. Or maybe you just need to wait. On Nico's road to recovery and his strengthening friendship with Sanare, daughter of Hecate. Better than it sounds!
1. Chapter 1

Nico di Angelo is not handsome.

Not in the least.

He is tall and lean-too lean-from never caring to eat. His skin is pale- ash gray, the result of spending all his time in the shadows. His hair is black, but is now matted and greasy, because he never washing it. Dark shadows line his eyes, making him look as if he is weary- tired of living. His hands are rough and callused from using his sword too much. Scars grace his body, memoirs of his many battles, and his lips are thin and chapped.

But his eyes are, by far, the worst.

They are cold and cruel, the eyes of someone who has seen too much pain. Too much death. The eyes of someone who is beyond caring . They are the eyes of someone who has _lost too much_, the eyes of someone who has fought a thousand battles, the eyes of someone who has slaughtered anyone daring to stand in his way. They are pitch black, but you can see the despair, the pain, the insanity looming overhead, waiting for a chance to take over. And you can see that he's trying to fight it, but he'slosing. You swear you can hear his tortured pleas, "_Help me! Please! HELP ME!" _

But you can't, because you're too scared. You can't, because he's beyond helping. Because no amount of healing will take away his pain. Because if the eyes a really the windows to the soul, then there is no way he has a soul.

His cousin, Percy, was nearly assassinated a month ago. He's in a coma, and they keep him in a room at the Big House. The gods- they could heal him if they tried, Nico's sure. He hates them for not doing it, for cowering behind the excuse, 'no direct interference.'

Nico hunted down the assassin and killed him. He was glad to see the _trusted_ demigod die a slow and painful death. Ever since then, he hasn't stopped. He kills, and kills, and _kills._

All his murders were justified. They were either about to betray their countries, or raise the titans, or maybe they were even thinking about betraying him.

But that doesn't stop the others from looking at him with fear.

Clarisse fell fighting the giant Pallas, so no one is around to remind campers how Nico helped save Olympus. So the Ares campers sneer at him, polishing their spears and sharpening their swords as he walks by. The others flee before the looming shadow of Nico di Angelo. No. They don't flee before the shadow of Nico di Angelo. They flee before the shadow of Death.

Rachel fears him, too. They're supposed to be friends, but he can see how she's always in a hurry to get away from him. Chiron always glances warily at him, like he's afraid Nico will lash out against his other students. Mr. D, he notices, is never around when he drops by at camp.

So the gods fear him, too.

He never goes to camp anymore. He doesn't go to the Underworld, because he couldn't stand it if the ones he slew crowded him. He just… wanders.

Because he has no home, no family, no friends, to go back to.

* * *

><p>That's how he met her.<p>

He was sitting under a gnarled oak tree on a hill at a cemetery somewhere in New Orleans. A small raven-haired girl wearing a black long-sleeved dress strolled casually uphill to where he was sitting, and sat down next to him. Not so far from him that he feels closed off and distant, but not so close that she's invading his space. He doesn't move, and eyes still fixed on the sunset, speaks for the first time in years.

"Why."

It's not really a question, more like a demand. _WHY would you sit next to me? WHY would you put your life in danger like that? WHY do you CARE?_

And when she speaks, voice crystal clear, ringing through the cemetery, he knows she's the one.

"Because you need someone to_ hear you out_."

And so he talks. He talks without stopping. He tells her _everything_. He tells her how his sister died, how he helped save Olympus, how he murdered so many( at this point he looks up, as if expecting her to run away screaming in horror, and to his surprise, she's completely unfazed.) Part of him wonders why he's putting his faith-or rather, what's left of it- into this complete stranger. Part of him wonders why he's pouring his life story out for her to hear. Part of him wonders if it's wise to trust her.

He ignores those parts of him and keeps talking.

He stops to catch his breath a few times. When he finally finishes, he notices it's _sunrise_. He looks at the girl next to him.

She's still awake, and there's no sign of her being tired whatsoever. She seems to ponder what he's told her for a moment, then gives him a small smile. Her violet eyes held care instead of fear or hate or pity. And when his stomach rumbles a second later, she laughs- a melodious, joyful sound, like the ringing of bells- and holds out a McDonald Happy Meal for him, like a reminder of his innocence. He doesn't quite smile, but it still counts, and then snarfs it down. He looks up tentatively, as if not believing she'll still be there, not believing this could be _real_, but she's still there, smiling at him warmly, raven hair blown to the side by the wind.

And he knows he's found a friend.

* * *

><p>AN: Like it? Hate it? REVIEW! Don't flame me too hard, seriously, I'm only 12... And this is my second story. Flames, if you do, will be used to roast digital marshmallows!

~DarkAngel


	2. Chapter 2

_Beach_

The road to recovery is long.

She makes it so easier.

They start out small, healing him on the outside. He says no, he won't wash his hair or spend more time in the sun or drink more water, and she says you have to, otherwise you'll get sick, and he refuses still, saying that no one cares if he's sick or not, and then she just looks him in the eye, and says,

"I care, Nico. I care."

The sincerity in her eyes startles him, and so he agrees grudgingly to wash his hair and drink more water and spend more time in the sun, and so he heals slowly on the outside, and one day he wakes up, looks at his reflection, and notices he doesn't look quite so frightening anymore.

He tells her that, and she says, "I don't think you're cute yet, though, Corpse Boy."

But that has nothing to do with how they ended up going to the beach, he's sure.

The first time they went to the beach, it was the beginning of summer. He shadow traveled them to California, because she said she always wanted to go there. Although it's the beach, and they're wearing swimsuits, he refuses to go swimming-_"Are you KIDDING me? Poseidon will blast me into a pile of sea salt!"_ so she decides not to swim either, to keep him company. So they sit on the beach, talking about anything that comes to mind, and he realizes for the first time in years, he feels happy. _Whole_.

They talk about their deepest fears, their greatest desires, their most humiliating moments. They laugh together, and Nico suddenly feels that the shadow looming over his mind has retreated. Not completely gone, but it's still improvement. And they watch the sunset together, and it's not until some worried parent shouts, "Dolores! Where are you?" and she asks who names their kid Dolores, anyway? does he realize he doesn't know what her name is yet.

So he asks her, and she glances around warily before asking him to promise not to laugh. He agrees, and she whispers softly in his ear,

"Sanare."

_Sanare_. It's a beautiful name, and it sounds familiar somehow, but he can't quite place it just yet. He asks, why would you think I would laugh at that? It's a beautiful name! She blushes, the red of her cheeks standing out against her pale skin, saying she _knows_ it's a ridiculous name, and he says no, it sounds just right. Sanare. He likes how it feels when he says it. He says it a few more times just to annoy her, and she swats at him playfully, and he coughs out sand and she apologizes, and he grins mischievously, and tosses some sand back at her. And that's how Nico di Angelo had his first sand fight.

"We have to do that again sometime," Sanare says.

"Yeah. Yeah, we do." Nico agrees.

And that is how they started the tradition of going to the beach every Friday night.

* * *

><p>AN: Like it? Hate it? Keep in mind I'm only 12, and that this is my second story. Don't flame me too hard, or else I'll end up killing my teeth eating too many marshmallows. Critique is welcome! Compliments are more welcome!

~DarkAngel


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